


Welcome Wagon

by QuillHeart



Category: Lupin III
Genre: Banter, Character Study, Dirty Jokes, Gen, Getting to Know Each Other, Hazing, Interrogation, Kind of a cross between Blue Jacket and TWCFM in tone, Lupin Gets Arrested, Male Bonding, Mentions of Oscar, Swearing, kinda gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:26:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26386366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuillHeart/pseuds/QuillHeart
Summary: It's not Yata's first time in the interrogation room, but it's certainly his first time with Lupin there.Created for the Lupin Big Bang 2020 challenge. C:
Relationships: Arsène Lupin III & Zenigata Kouichi, Zenigata Kouichi & Yata
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35
Collections: Lupin III Big Bang 2020





	Welcome Wagon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TwigstheShifter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwigstheShifter/gifts).



> It's so nice to be writing for Lupin again! With any luck, there will be more such writings to come soon. :)
> 
> There was no specific prompt for this, just a few characters on offer. But that's okay, because this is a topic I've wanted to see forever, and this was a great excuse for it to run away with me. Hope you like it!

From the outside, it seemed like a standard interrogation—a small, square room with cinderblock walls and a concrete floor, illuminated by a single fluorescent tube buzzing from the ceiling. There were no windows, but there was an eerily silent two-way mirror that made up one wall. A metal table sat in the middle of the room, a recorder in the middle and three chairs around it.

In those chairs were a detective, a rookie, and a perp caught in the act.

It was a completely normal state of affairs for a police station, except for the fact that the suspect was without a doubt guilty, and he was one of the most notorious criminals in the world.

Yata had been told not to say anything. To just watch and listen. He was a newbie, afterall, and Lupin was Zenigata’s catch.

Lupin was also, Zenigata liked to remind him on a weekly basis, manipulative and dangerous.

Lupin and Zenigata were sitting across from each other, staring each other down in unblinking silence. Zenigata looked deeply stoic, with a vaguely violent edge to it that Yata had only seen on him when he was under duress and trying to protect his men from a force that was much larger than he could expect to handle alone. Lupin, meanwhile, was less tense in body, all the sharpness in his hazel eyes. It was the posture of a cornered snake on the defensive, Yata thought, but ready to strike and create its own escape route at any moment.

It was enough tension to cut with a knife. If someone had dropped something outside, Yata would have jumped right out of his seat then and there. As it was, he was trying not to even breathe until one of them moved. He was just here to watch, after all. Not to interfere, or to judge. He was here to watch and learn. He had already blinked far more times than they had, so that fresh meat quality was a glaringly obvious truth that he hoped neither of them had noticed.

But, Yata had to admit, Lupin was disarming, even like this. He’d been warned about that many a time, but he felt it crawling over his mind now, cutting through his keyed-up nerves. Lupin was, technically, a white-collar criminal, so he didn’t look or feel like your average dangerous thug. He was a con man at heart, designed to glide silently around people’s usual alarm bells.

Yata shouldn’t have been surprised by that affecting even him, but he still was. After all of Zenigata’s boogieman stories, all the long nights of protecting the good citizens’ property and hunting a ghost in the dark, the slip of a man in front of him, mottled with bruises peeking out from under a colorful Italian suit frayed at the edges, looked like an underfed artist who’d been brought in for graffitiing the wrong wall with a message that was too true. The fact that his heart kept telling him that, even when his mind was blaring all the old cautions at him, made him feel distinctly amateur, all without anyone saying a word.

Still, when he looked hard enough, there was something decidedly vicious about Lupin’s posture, and cold to his gaze. It was definitely not something Yata wanted trained on himself with no protection.

And yet, the fact that it was Lupin—the Lupin!—finally in front of him after more than a year, was enough to take Yata’s breath away. He desperately wanted both of them to do nothing but talk, so that he could see the inside of the man.

Yata’s mouth was watering at the thought of tasting this victory to the fullest. He wanted to see someone rub salt in Lupin’s wounds, for all the trouble he had ever caused Yata, Zenigata, and the world at large. 

“Would one of you two just say something already?! You’re wasting tape!” Yata hissed.

Even if it was a dangerous thing to do...

There was a pause, in which both Zenigata and Lupin blinked—in that order.

With a gasp, Yata covered his mouth. He didn’t realize he’d said it out loud.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Zenigata turned his head on his neck, to stare at his deputy with the most incredulous _You done fucked up_ stare Yata had ever seen in his life. He gulped, heart stopping and going cold for fear of his job.

But then, out of the corner of his eye, he suddenly felt he had a reason to be afraid for _his life._

Mechanically, like a cowering rabbit, he turned to Lupin, a cold sweat breaking out on his neck. He was already trapped, and every fiber of his body knew it.

Lupin was giving him the exact same look from his side of the table. The gaze that caught Yata's was a mix of amazement and fury, eyes wide and threatening. It was a sleek sort of feral insanity in his eyes—until, just when Yata was sure any other prisoner would have lunged, Lupin smiled.

It was not a friendly thing.

“Where’d you get the kid?” he asked softly, eyes glittering. “He’s cute.”

Yata’s eyes widened, the unfamiliar chill of being hit on by a guy—and a predator—taking hold of his gut.

Lupin, meanwhile, never took his eyes off him as he licked his lips and winked.

Yata didn’t realize he was holding his breath until Lupin turned back to his jailer, the dark, satisfied smile settling easily over his whole body. Even though his cuffs were chained to the table, there was a bit of slack there, and he slouched in the seat sideways so that he could sling an elbow over the back of the aluminum chair.

The Inspector, meanwhile, was unimpressed. “He’s… _new_ ,” he drawled slowly, a warning tone to it. Yata couldn’t tell who it was threatening—him or Lupin. Maybe both.

“You gonna send him out into the hall for being naughty, or do I get to play with him a little?”

He leered in Yata’s direction through dark lashes, with a soft gaze that was glitteringly seductive and yet deeply predatory. It sent a strange wave of feeling down Yata’s body, and he was confused about whether he liked it or not.

Zenigata’s only response was to raise his eyebrows and tilt his chin back a little. When Lupin looked at him, he asked lowly, “You think this is game?”

The intent of that phrase was clear, and Lupin’s eyes narrowed a bit.

It was the sort of thing where most of the responses would end with Lupin’s head bashed into the table. So in the end, he only said, “Let’s hope he lasts longer than the previous one.”

 _The previous…one?_ Yata had no idea what he was talking about. He supposed it made sense—Zenigata was a well-seasoned detective; he’d had to have a long series of partners. But the man never spoke about them.

_Did Lupin…hurt him?_

As if sensing his thoughts, Lupin glanced over Yaya again, this time thoughtfully. That cold smile came back, but more humoring. It rankled Yata in a place deep down that he didn’t quite know he had. He sat up a little straighter in response, but managed to stay silent otherwise, thank god.

“His name was Oscar,” Lupin said, raising his eyebrows once.

When Yata frowned and looked to his partner for answers, Lupin smirked, victory won.

“We are _not_ talking about him,” Zenigata stated sharply, slamming his stack of papers down on the table, to the point that it made a loud boom. Yata jostled slightly, but Lupin just stared at it for a second, something closing off in his posture.

“Are we not?” he goaded. “That name is like a curse around here. You just hear it on the wind, whispered in the hallways, how can you _not_ talk about it?”

“I said we are _not_ ,” Zenigata gritted out through clenched teeth.

“He was obsessed with me, in every way, even more than you,” Lupin went on with a trill that mocked tenderness, but caressed down Yata’s back to form a shiver all the same. “Just like you will be,” he added, flicking a momentary look Yata’s way. “If you stick around.”

There was something stunning in that look. Mysterious, fatalistic, aloof—and so very, very _alluring_.

Yata was suddenly aware that his heart was beating, and it was beating very fast.

This was a demon that was crying out to be chased—and caught.

But not in the way that handcuffs could bring.

Yata gulped, blinking rapidly. A strangled noise brushed its way past his lips, all of which was very unbecoming, and he knew everyone knew it.

Lupin smiled warmly at him, and with a hum, sent an air kiss his way.

Zenigata rolled his eyes and flipped open the binder.

“You’re in some deep shit, Lupin,” he began, “If you are quite done with the theatrics.”

“I mean, I _could_ be done,” Lupin shot back with a smirk, voice suddenly rather effeminate and breathy. “But _he_ looks a lot more fun than your _file_.”

Yata had no idea how anyone, let alone a man, could make paperwork sound that much like an innuendo, but damn if he didn’t just witness it—no, feel it—for himself.

_He called me better than hearing about his own crimes, that’s actually rather a nice compliment from a serial offender?_

_Wait, no, what are you thinking! Focus, Yata!_

He shook out his head and rubbed at his face. He thought he heard Lupin chuckle from the other side of his hands.

Meanwhile, the Inspector was grumbling. “Yes, yes, new meat, something something innuendos, and you like skinny authoritative men slightly taller than you who like to tie you up and punish you, yes we know,” he huffed. “He’s listened to all the tapes.”

“Did he like them?”

The page stopped mid-flip. “What?” Zenigata snapped.

“Did he like the tapes?” Lupin asked, raising the hand on the back of the chair airily. “Did they turn him on?”

Yata sputtered and turned red. Zenigata growled, exasperated.

“Do you even know _why_ you’re here?” the Inspector demanded tightly.

For the first time, Lupin looked vaguely puzzled. “International crimes?”

Zenigata lifted both hands and gestured at Lupin like he was stupid. “You got sold out by the Rossacollina branch of the Castelli family operatives, didn’t get your loot, and now you’re fucking _here_. Giving my rookie _shit_. You think that makes you special? It makes you a fucking _loser_ is what it makes you and frankly I expect better from you.”

A long second ticked by on the digital recorder, in which Yata was sure Lupin was plotting Zenigata’s murder, with how he was looking at the man.

But then, it appeared to be Lupin’s turn to roll his eyes. “Mm,” he grunted, raising an elegant eyebrow. He made to rub a crick out of the back of his neck, but the chain came up short. He looked at this fact with barely concealed disdain, like a cat that knew everyone in the room had seen it land badly.

“You shortened the chain.”

“Damn straight, you need a short leash.”

Lupin was silent for a second, then glanced over at Yata, much to Yata’s dismay. “He only talks to me like that because he likes me.”

“No I don’t.”

Yata couldn’t take his attention off those smoldering eyes leaning ever nearer.

“Don’t worry, he likes it in the bedroom too—”

“Hey.” Zenigata snapped his fingers in front of Lupin’s face, and Lupin actually jolted to attention—a bit to the surprise of everyone in the room, given the look on both Inspector and thief’s faces, Yata thought. “You’re talking to me.”

“Am I?” Perhaps to rally, Lupin sighed theatrically, head tilting back to lean on the chair’s spine. Yata was just glad he was further away. “Because I feel like I’m being talked _at._ ”

“You do know you’ve been arrested, right.”

“Just get the blindfold and whip already, you know you want to, like that one time in Siberia. Why let the presence of another get in the way of our twisted love affair?”

Yata sputtered, startled. Zenigata did too a few times, then blushed as he looked down at the recorder like it might end him. “Please don’t tell my rookie lies like that,” he said, all pretense dropped, and very tellingly avoiding looking Yata’s way.

“Is it a lie though? _Is_ it?” Lupin philosophized at the ceiling. “The seed is planted, and now he’ll _always_ wonder. Especially if he finds out about Oscar—”

Zenigata growled and suppressed reaching over the table and manhandling his suspect, with visible effort. “All right. I get it. You’re embarrassed, hungry, and probably plotting revenge. Whatever. I’ll get you something to eat.”

With a grumble, Zenigata got up, took his papers, and left.

 _What just…happened?_ Yata wondered, frozen and astonished as he stared, twisted in his seat, at the door.

“Hey, don’t take your eyes off the suspect when you’re alone with him.”

The voice was right in his ear. A shiver shot through Yata and he spun back around, only to see Lupin hadn’t moved.

He must have thrown his voice somehow.

They watched each other for a second, and then Lupin smiled tiredly at the ceiling from where he draped. It was a very human look.

And then, just as Yata thought that, his eyes flicked over to him, and the god of thieves was back.

“What’s your name?” he asked softly, the ghost of a smile on his lips promising danger.

Yata straightened in his seat, held his gaze, but didn’t say anything. He wasn’t authorized _to_ say anything. And the only thing he knew about Lupin for certain was what Zenigata had warned him of— _Don’t give him anything, even a hint of a clue. He’ll run with it and hurt you with it. He’s sadistic and clever like that._

Right now, that alarm bell was ringing like mad.

Lupin’s smile fell, and after a disappointed up-down, he hummed and settled in, eyes closed. “Yawn. You’re worse than he is.”

For some reason, that disappointment cut worse than his parents’ ever had. And Yata did not like that. He didn’t like that _at all_ —that a suspect, especially _this_ suspect, could hurt him like that. And so easily and swiftly, too.

“At least I’m not acting like a child,” Yata spat back.

It came out before he realized it, but Lupin didn’t appear to mind. If anything, he just looked at him skeptically from where he lay.

“You think being uptight and rule-abiding makes you mature?” He tisked. “Just makes you a _slave_.”

Yata sputtered, aghast and offended and not sure why. Apparently that was a feeling Lupin was good at conjuring within him, much to his further annoyance. While he tried to piece it out, the suspect, by all appearances, tried to settle in as best he could to sleep.

His face soon twisted though, and even with his eyes closed, it was clear he was in pain. He had been hit pretty hard in various places—they’d actually found him going in and out of consciousness in a shipping container with Jigen guarding him, and shit that’d been scary until the hitman had recognized Zenigata. After that, he’d seemed almost relieved to leave.

And that was weird too—seeing a suspect from feet away and being told not to go after him as he turned tail. Being left standing with Zenigata, who had an unconscious perp draped over his arm, in a dark and bloodied space not fit for human habitation, while hearing special forces scrambling to scourer the rest of the docks to ferret out the stragglers.

It wasn’t like he was exactly eager to take on Jigen Daisuke, one of the most storied cleaners of their time. In the end, Yata had been left with a rush of excitement and success, and yet a deeply unsettling feeling that he’d brushed death and maybe shouldn’t push his luck for the rest of the week—or his life.

Knowing Jigen was still out there was, at times, enough to make someone deeply afraid of going to sleep.

And yet, the man had willingly forked his boss over, to Yata’s boss. They really did have a strange relationship.

Still, wary of a trick, Yata asked, just a little meanly, “Can’t sleep?”

“Bruised rib,” Lupin replied at a hiss.

He didn’t even bother opening his eyes. Which…was really rather trusting of him, considering they’d never met before. Maybe he just trusted Zenigata to run a tight ship. The two of them had met many a time like this, after all, according to both Zenigata and the dozens of hours of interrogation tapes.

“So what’s your story?” Lupin tried again. “Whose daughter you get caught sleeping with to end up on old Pops’s squad?”

“I _asked_ to be here,” he prickled. “The Inspector is well known for being tenacious, tricky, and well-versed in how to navigate the system in two dozen countries.” The ones Lupin frequented, specifically. “And, unlike you, he’s also well-known for being honest.”

Because Lupin’s gang made a point not to kill cops unless they had a really bad day or a vendetta, it was a fairly low-risk way to see the world and learn a lot. From a guy who actually cared.

Lupin was watching him very carefully, eyes narrowed. After a few moments of that inscrutable look, the storm passed though, and Lupin closed his eyes again. “Hm.”

 _You’re gonna just take all that and not offer up anything in exchange?_ Yata bristled. He shouldn’t have been surprised, but he was. He felt like an enormous sucker already and the fact that they were only five minutes in at that point was nigh unforgiveable to his reputation in his partner’s eyes.

Huffing, Yata forced himself to take a breath, then, attempting to regain some of his stolen pride and dignity, said, “So what’s your story? Why do you do what you do?”

“The simple answer is, ‘it’s the family business,’” Lupin replied, twisting strangely to pop his neck. _Krik Krak,_ and the clink of the chain as he moved. “Don’t want to disappoint four generations of thieves.”

Yata took this at face value, until his sleep-addled brain remembered how to count. “Wait…but aren’t you Lupin _the Third_?”

“Oh…that?” Lupin looked thoughtful. “Well. It was the family business before that, but Grandpa took it to the next level, let’s say.”

“Your…grandfather. Was a war hero, I heard. Punched Nazis and stuff.”

“Yeah.” Lupin smiled fondly. “Stabbed ‘em too.”

Yata winced. He didn’t want to inspect that too deeply at the moment. “And your father…was a gangster. Correct?”

“What is this, a job interview?” Lupin teased. “He’d prefer ‘businessman’ but…yeah.” At that, Lupin’s mood decidedly faltered, his face and tone dropping. “That in my file?” he asked almost innocently, looking at the table where it had been before Zenigata had taken it with him.

“No. The Inspector told me. Why?”

“Oh, good.” Lupin sighed, going back to leaning his head on the back of the chair. “Was afraid I was gonna have to go in and delete a bunch of stuff again.”

Yata frowned. “The Inspector would really prefer it if you stopped doing that. It’s a lot of work to input all that over and over.”

“Then _‘The Inspector’_ should stop putting shit in there he knows he shouldn’t,” Lupin snapped back, irritated.

Yata blinked for a moment, nonplussed, while Lupin’s prickles slowly deflated. He could practically _see_ it on him.

“Still…that’s a big jump, gentleman thief to mafioso, in one generation.”

“Not as big as you might think.”

“I take it you took after your grandfather then.”

“Yeah. What of it?” Lupin sat up a little, genuinely curious now.

It was hard to keep a train of thought under the scrutiny of that intensely curious, charmingly innocent, and yet secretly criminal gaze. “It’s just…a lot to deal with. I can’t imagine it made a very happy home life.” As Lupin’s look darkened, Yata quickly added, hands raised, “I mean, unless he specifically kept you out of the business?”

“Like a mafia princess?” Lupin wondered, face twisting this way and that as he processed the thought, and whether he wanted to be offended or not.

 _Was…was that a stupid thing to say?_ Yata gulped. “N-no…like. ‘You will be a senator’ and all that.”

Lupin suddenly brightened at the reference, like the sun had broken out from behind a cloud. “Ah, yes. A politician. The only honest day’s work for a dishonest man. Sadly, no, my father didn’t have any plans for me at all.”

Yata frowned, unsure what that meant. But he wasn’t imagining it—Lupin’s smile turned a little stiff at the end there.

A spark burst to life in Yata’s heart. That had been a clue. A little wiggling string for him to try and catch.

Right?

He thought back to that look a few minutes ago, the one that begged to be chased and captured.

To be held down and interrogated…down to its deepest depths? To shine the light of justice on, until there was no darkness left to hide behind?...

At the academy, they often said that all criminals wanted to be captured. Zenigata said it all the time, in fact, in regards to Lupin in particular. The philosophy was that humans were by and large inherently good, and they wanted to be captured and stopped from doing bad. Even the ones who did it uncontrollably. Even the pathological ones, the outliers who didn’t care about the morality of what they were doing, in the end always wanted someone to see and understand them, tell them they were better than everyone else. That was why most high-profile serial offenders eventually got caught—because they _wanted_ to.

Which one Lupin was, though…that was where pulling that string would lead, he thought with a shiver.

Lupin’s smile gradually fell and he simply gazed at him quietly, waiting for a reply. It felt almost feminine in a way, that steady patience that melted into the background waiting for him to do something.

But Yata just kept thinking.

To be honest, Mafia Prince or not, his background explained a lot about how he and Zenigata got along. The American mob always viewed themselves, erroneously or not, as a kind of gentleman professional. Part of that persona was a code of conduct that treated law enforcement and investigators with respect, if grudgingly. In part faux chivalry, in part a twisted pleasure at the cat and mouse game, in part because it kept the law off your back not to piss them off, it was a strange _amor fati_ dichotomy—that saw everyone as a potential friendly rival and colleague, until they moment they became expendable.

It was a world governed by very strict rules—and yet one where the protection they offered was extremely tenuous, based on who was willing to protect you versus sell you. It was one where titles were inherited but rarely by blood; the mob was c _alled_ a family but the goal was always to keep their _real_ children from having to go the route they did. 

It was a landscape of ego, power, and prestige; glamorous wealth and destructive excess; as well as constant duplicity under the banner of honor and glory. In other words, it was a deal with the devil, and they all knew that going into it, even if they didn’t quite understand the value of what they were giving up. But most guys weren’t allowed to even _peek_ into any of the real dirty stuff until well into their mob careers. He had long been curious how seeing behind the curtain from a young age would warp a person, always worried you would be the next to die—and looking at Lupin’s skinny, tired, and arguably bipolar frame melting into the chair, he was starting to understand.

“My father and I were never particularly close,” Lupin admitted suddenly, pausing Yata’s reverie. “And yes, I knew about and participated in ‘the business’—until it became clear that I was better at it than him.” He gazed off at nothing, his hands opening palm up where they lay on the table. “I once ran a ring of about a hundred people. I implemented a lot of changes to be less hard-hitting on the little guys in the neighborhood, and my guys really, genuinely liked me. I helped a lot of them go straight and their families and friends get ahead in life. Once it became clear that I was a more popular than my father was, though…” Lupin drew a line through the air with his finger, making a gurgling noise since he couldn’t really touch his throat. “Was curtains for me in that town.”

Lupin finished his story with a sigh.

“I’m sorry,” Yata offered, horrified.

The thief shrugged. “It’s nice of you to believe me, because I _am_ telling the truth at the moment. But maybe reign that blind trust in a little when the Inspector gets back, eh? Not everyone on my side of things is as trustworthy as I am. In fact,” he groaned as he sat up properly, “most _aren’t_.”

Yata let that settle. Lupin looked at the two-way mirror. “You can come back now,” he called to it. “I know you’re back there.”

Lupin bent so he could scrub his hand through his hair. “Hope he comes back with some Tylenol,” he muttered.

Yata glanced at the mirror once, then back down at him. “So why?” he asked, not sure why he felt compelled to poke the tiger.

“Why what?”

“Do you steal? Why not just leave it all behind with the money you had?”

He expected an answer like, “It’s too hard to leave that life behind when it’s all you’ve ever known,” because he’d heard it a thousand times from gang bangers and street thugs and druggies, and Lupin certainly looked, at the moment, like that was what was on his mind.

But as the door behind them knocked and opened, he said, “You ever known you were meant for something? Not necessarily in the divine sense, but just, if you tried it, you’d be really good at it, and if you pursued it, you’d be so unreasonably good at it nothing could stop you? That whisper of experience and intuition that mixes together and tells you what you’d love to do with your life to die happy and fulfilled?” Hazel eyes gazed at him with an intensity that made Yata’s stomach drop. “Well, that’s what stealing shit from rich assholes and hitting on the most beautiful chicks all over the world is for me.”

Yata sputtered. Lupin smiled and looked like he wanted to pat him on the shoulder. 

“Everyone comes after me like they’re gonna win a trophy and put some super bad guy behind bars. Little do they realize that I tried to be a gangster and discovered I had a real good knack for getting people _out_ of trouble, rather than getting them into it. And in fact, I liked the work and the results better, too. Now I spend my life cleaning up the messes you guys aren’t allowed to because of that beautiful ‘system’ you believe in so deeply.” He smirked. “I’m the real hero here. You’re just my unwitting foot soldiers.”

After a while of gaping, Yata grumbled, “How rude.”

Lupin just chuckled.

“You forgot to mention ‘ridiculously complicated machinations, overthrowing governments, toppling crime rings, corporate spy shit, and treasure hunting,’” Zenigata’s voice gruffed from above Yata’s head, like he was having none of it.

“Well sure,” Lupin laughed good-naturedly in welcome. “But that’s just assumed when one goes all-out to fight the system, isn’t it?”

The aroma of ramen with home-added fixings set down in front of all three of them. And then:

“Hey. How did you…get out of your cuffs?” Zenigata asked, sounding pale.

Yata instantly sat upright. Lupin, sans cuffs, simply picked up the spoon and fork and started eating, though he gave the rookie a friendly wink on the way to looking up at the Inspector. There, he found a disappointed parents’ stare.

Lupin only shrugged airily to that look, nose upturned.

Yata gasped like he was the one being scolded. “I—. I swear! I—! When—? How did—?”

Lupin cracked his neck idly in answer.

Yata, meanwhile, cried out in distress. “Really?!”

He’d done it under the table when he was cracking his neck, as a distraction to explain the chains crinkling?!

Zenigata hummed in displeasure, which he _knew_ Lupin noticed. When the thief ignored it and stayed docile, he grunted and sat down. “Fine. But you misuse the privilege and I’ll never give you food again, you hear me?”

“Yessir, loud and clear sir,” Lupin replied blithely, and then a moment later shoveled a fork full of noodles in his mouth.

Yata’s heart raced. Zenigata had to tell him to eat, and even then he wasn’t sure he could stomach the mortification of it all.

“Eat, rookie, it’s gonna be a long night,” Lupin instructed, almost gently. “There’s a lot of people after me this time.”

This did not reassure Yata in the slightest. Noticing that, Lupin continued, “What? It’s not like I was going to attack you. I’m not the animal in the room; I’m a _gentleman_.”

“Excuse me?” Zenigata barked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Lupin turned to him and grinned mischievously. “Nee hee.”

Zenigata sighed. “ _Lupin_.”

“Oh, there I go again, planting evil seeds. Ah-ha-ha!”

The Inspector rolled his eyes and shook his head, leaning back and flipping open a manilla folder that was part of the binder’s overflowing pages. “He’ll give you nightmares if you let him,” he cautioned. “Don’t let him.”

“N-no, sir! Absolutely not, sir!” Yata went for his soup, determined to push back the darkness closing in.

“Like I said,” Lupin replied to Zenigata as he ate, “Cute.”

“Shut it,” the old cop warned idly.

“But then how will you interrogate me? My _body_ ~?”

“You’re walking on thin ice here.”

“Hee hee. You know you love me. Come skating on that ice with me, Inspector. I promise to warm you up if you fall in…”

Zenigata didn’t even look up from his pages. “You wish, you desperate string bean.”

Apparently satisfied, Lupin laughed and shrugged, going back for another mouthful. Yata tried to do the same.

“This is good,” Lupin said after a while. “You always make good stuff.”

“Could teach you sometime if you’d give up _crime_.”

“That’s much too high a price to pay for good soup,” Lupin replied with a smirk. “But it’s a nice offer anyway.”

Zenigata didn’t say anything to that, but by how pleased he looked when he turned the next page, he seemed to feel it’d had the effect he wanted.

“Now,” he said, throwing a few pictures down, “You gonna tell me what the hell’s happening with the Rossas? It’d help me keep your ass from getting shot—or mine.”

“Well, it is much too nice an ass to risk getting shot, I’ll agree with you there,” Lupin said, to which Yata spewed broth in his general direction. Lupin pulled away, looking troubled, and gingerly set a napkin in front of the cop.

“S-sorry,” Yata muttered, wiping up the space. Lupin scooted his chair away a little.

“Hey!” Yata complained.

“You brought this on yourself,” Lupin stated, then went back to eating. “I guess this is what level of manners tax dollars pay for these days. Jeez.”

“Oh stop it with that crap, we all know you’re new money,” Zenigata chuckled.

“I am not! I’m very _old_ money! The actual _money’s_ just new because the government confiscated all my dad’s! Aaand because the revolution stole my great great grandfather’s!”

“Your family’s done a shit job of picking sides,” Zenigata said deadpan from over his noodles. “I suddenly understand where they went wrong and how the lineage produced you.”

“You’re a such a jerk, you want me to tell you or not?”

“I’m not stopping you from talking.” Zenigata gestured to the photos. “Do my delicious, tasty noodles look like a gag order to you?”

Lupin glared at him, and even Yata turned a bit askance at that.

“You really gotta work on your dirty jokes,” Lupin muttered, disappointed.

“It wasn’t a joke!” Zenigata sputtered. “W-well, not that kind of joke!” He looked at Yata, who just blinked, not entirely sure which side to take. “God, what _is_ it with you and trying to get cops to fuck you!?” Zenigata grumbled.

Lupin just chuckled, taking a spoonful of broth into his mouth in a way that told Yata exactly what kind of kisser he was. “Hey, everybody’s gotta have dreams.”

This time, he got spewed on from two directions.

“Jesus, you guys!” he hissed, wiping off his face. “What is this, soup bukkake?”

“I can’t ever unhear that!” Zenigata said, cringing.

“Augh,” Yata winced in agreement.

“At least it tastes better,” Lupin muttered to himself.

“I’m trying to _eat_ here,” Yata complained.

“Please stop,” Zenigata groaned.

“You’re the ones shooting it at me.”

“Because of your mouth!”

They both stared at each other in silence, and then, after a few long seconds, spontaneously broke into embarrassed laughter together. Lupin hid his head under his arm, and Zenigata rubbed his brow with a heavy hand. “Goddammit, it’s four AM,” the inspector moaned between tears of hysterical laughter. “Just tell me what I need to know so we can both get some damn sleep.”

Lupin, sounding breathlessly dizzy, took over a minute to stop laughing and saying “ow” long enough to speak. “Yeah okay,” he wheezed, finally setting his spoon down. “It’s nice to see you again, too.”

“I can’t say the same, but you do make me laugh the way no one else can, at least, you louse.”

Lupin gazed fondly at him as he held his aching ribs, and while there was not the same degree of intensity in Zenigata’s eyes, there was something there nonetheless.

“Stop fucking committing crimes though,” Zenigata added.

“Ah, there it is.” Lupin chuckled and rolled his head on his neck, until his gaze fell onto Yata.

It was a pretty gaze, he found himself thinking, though he wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t often that he had someone look at him that deeply, that intently, trying to see right through him, let alone with no intention of yelling at him.

Maybe an intention of manipulating him, but it promised to be warm and gentle, and that was weirdly alluring, somehow.

Yata took a deep breath and stared at his soup.

“Yeah, he’s okay,” Lupin said flatly, bursting his bubble. “You can keep him.”

“Thanks?” Zenigata replied.

“Don’t ever tell him about Oscar.”

“Oh don’t worry, that wasn’t in the plan. No offense, Yata.”

“None taken, sir.”

“So about the Rossas,” Lupin began thoughtfully, a slim fingertip on the leftmost picture. “So this one here, this gout-looking guy? Is the sub-leader of the northern operation, and all this started when I first ran across his wife in a café outside the Monaco casino. She actually came to me, looking for help, which I tell you freaked me out a little, but she was such a looker, and I mean her necklace was worth like forty grand, how could I say no…”

“Guh.”

“Hey. I’m helping you here. Leave your judgement till the end.”

“That was not so much disgust that I wanted you to stop.”

“…Charming.”

Zenigata nodded. Lupin shifted in his seat so he could gesture better. He did not seem at all put off by the peanut gallery’s commentary now that he had a captive audience for his story.

“So. Anyway. This woman comes up to me wearing 40k in diamonds on a nice-ass rack…”

“A nice ass-rack, you say,” Yata muttered quietly over his soup.

Lupin paused, and both he and the Inspector turned to him. Yata stared, deer in headlights, especially at the now uncuffed criminal. He hadn’t expected them to hear him, let alone pay attention. It was slightly flattering, though it was far more terrifying.

But this time, when the thief broke into a smile, it was delighted, not an edge of malice to it. “Hah! He _does_ have a sense of humor. Good, I was starting to worry there. There’s nothing worse than cops with no sense of humor, by _god_.”

When Yata looked, even Zenigata nodded a little, approving, before redirecting Lupin’s attention. “So there was a hot married woman with a mystery and a need. Just your type of thing. Was it a trap?”

“Oh of course.” Lupin shook his head with a snort. “Loved every minute of it.”

“Typical.”

And on into the morning it went, with Lupin spinning wild and irreverent tales that both Zenigata and Lupin assured him were 90% true and 10% wild red herring. It wasn’t a bad way to pass the morning all told, kind of inspiring and fascinating really, and by the end of it, Lupin had gone in Yata’s mind from a dangerous and legendary quarry he had to quash to a rather charming criminal element he wouldn’t mind seeing again.

Unfortunately, he wouldn’t get much of a chance for a while, as after a few days, Lupin escaped.

This time, though, was the first time he waved goodbye to Yata from the getaway car.


End file.
